Champion of Sherwood

By Laura Strickland

When Gareth de Vavasour, nephew of the Sheriff of Nottingham, is captured by the outlaws of Sherwood Forest and held for ransom, he knows he will be fortunate to escape with his life. Amid the magic and danger that surround him, he soon realizes his true peril lies in the beautiful dark eyes of Linnet, the Saxon healer sent to tend his wounds. Granddaughter of Robin Hood, Linnet has always known she is destined to become a guardian of Sherwood Forest, along with her sister and a close childhood companion. She believes her life well settled until the arrival of Gareth. Then all her loyalties are tested even as her heart is forced to choose between love and the ties of duty, while Sherwood declares its own champion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Apr 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628301809

Laura Strickland

Born and raised in Western New York, Laura Strickland has been an avid reader and writer since childhood. Embracing her mother's heritage, she pursued a lifelong interest in Celtic lore, legend and music, all reflected in her writing. She has made pilgrimages to both Newfoundland and Scotland in the company of her daughter, but is usually happiest at home not far from Lake Ontario, with her husband and her "fur" child, a rescue dog. She practices gratitude every day.

Book preview

Inc.

Champion

of Sherwood

by

Laura Strickland

The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy

Book Two

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Champion of Sherwood

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Laura Strickland

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First English Tea Rose Edition, 2014

Print ISBN 978-1-62830-179-3

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-180-9

The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy, Book Two

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For my husband, Paul,

who has always been my champion

Praise for DAUGHTER OF SHERWOOD

Laura Strickland creates a world that not only draws you in, but she incorporates it so seamlessly that Sherwood is every bit as much a character in this story as Wren and Sparrow. Throw in a love triangle that has you flipping the pages, and you have the kind of book that keeps you awake well into the wee hours, and sighing with satisfaction when you've finished the very last page.

~Nicole McCaffrey, author

Chapter One

The village of Oakham, Sherwood Forest

Midsummer 1235

Lark! Falcon! Will the two of you not give over with your nonsense and get out from under foot so I might get my work done?

Half exasperated and half amused, Linnet directed the words, and a sharp glare, at the figures wrestling at her feet. Grappling might make a better description than wrestling, she acknowledged, for what the two of them were about.

The pair, so unevenly matched, contrasted almost ludicrously—one fair-haired and lithe, possessed of quick, easy strength, the other small, dark-headed, and a veritable fury of energetic intent. At the moment, the dark-headed combatant had rolled atop the other and looked to prove victorious. Even as Linnet scolded her sister, Lark dug her elbow into her opponent’s midsection, eliciting from him a gusty Whoof!

That for you, Falcon Scarlet! the victor crowed with satisfaction, sitting astride him the way a naughty lass might a recalcitrant pony. I win.

Linnet, arrested and distracted from her chores, narrowed her eyes. Did she detect something beyond mere rivalry in the scene? Did her sister, Lark, allow her triumphant body to cling a little too eagerly to that of the young man trapped beneath her?

Before Linnet could fairly make up her mind, Fal moved. With effortless strength he lifted Lark above him, swung her around, and slammed her against the earthen floor.

No, mite, you have not won, he cried with obvious enjoyment. Nor will you, ever.

Lark, furious, had no chance to reply as one of her flailing arms caught the wooden cupboard beside which she had been flung. Pots and crockery filled with the products of Linnet’s morning-long labors toppled and flew everywhere. Three cries of dismay arose, Linnet’s the loudest.

Now look what you have done. How many times have I told the two of you to keep your wild antics out of doors?

Her twin sister, Lark, sprang up from the mess apparently unharmed. She tossed Linnet a glare bright with defiance before she lit out and disappeared through the door of the cottage, which stood open to the summer air.

Lark’s foe, Falcon Scarlet, got up more slowly and shot Linnet an apologetic look.

I am that sorry, Lin. The tiny hell-spawn pushed me to it. I was not thinking.

That tiny hell-spawn, as you call her, happens to be the person closest in the world to me. If she came from hell, so must I. Standing amid the ruin of what had been an ordered room, Linnet fixed Falcon with a hard stare and raised an eyebrow. Do you mean to say I am hell-spawned as well?

Never. He leaned forward and planted a sweet kiss on her cheek. You are heaven walking. Do not be angry with me.

Linnet sighed. Despite the many and virtually continual reasons he gave her, she found it impossible to stay upset with Fal for long. Sizing him up frankly now, she doubted any woman with red blood in her veins could. Falcon Scarlet was far too charming for his own good, and far too attractive. Even she, who felt more like a sister to him than otherwise, had to admit it.

Take now, with his fair hair mussed from his tussle with Lark, his greenish-blue eyes dancing, and his white teeth gleaming in a mischievous smile. His long, lean body moved with strong grace, and she caught a glimpse of tanned skin where Lark had managed to rend the front of his tunic. Was he not any maid’s wild dream?

Well, perhaps not Linnet’s.

It is just that your sister has a rare talent for aggravating me. You know what an even-tempered fellow I am, usually.

Linnet had to admit that was so. And Lark did try the lad sorely.

I hope you did not hurt her.

Falcon snorted. Injure that imp? Impossible. She is the toughest and most terrifying person I know.

Nay, Fal, your father is most terrifying. Falcon’s father, Martin Scarlet—son of Will Scarlet, the legendary companion of Robin Hood—was a hard man, some might say devoid of mercy, and intimidating even to Linnet, who prided herself on her imperviousness to intimidation.

Aye, well. For an instant Fal’s sunny gaze clouded. He has changed since Ma and Thrush died, and not for the better.

Linnet nodded. Nearly a year had passed since the Sheriff of Nottingham’s men had come to Oakham looking for outlaws—or those harboring them—and burned half the dwellings to the ground with their inhabitants inside. Falcon’s mother, Sally, and his young sister, Thrush, had perished. And his father had become honed, sharper, fiercer, and more deadly.

Linnet supposed, given all the grief he carried, she should not deny Fal his moments of tomfoolery, yet she had just lost a full morning’s work. Among the three of them, all so close, she sometimes felt more a parent than a companion.

Never mind, Fal said now, stepping closer to her and unleashing his full charm. As the hell-spawn has fled, I will stay and help you clean up. Am I not a good lad?

You are a wicked lad, as ever. What of the tinctures I boiled down and bottled? What am I to say to your friends and neighbors when they come to me for a cure?

Say it is all Falcon’s fault, and cure them with your beauty. His eyes wooed her now. He had stepped far too close, so she could smell the sunshine on his hair. Give Falcon Scarlet a chance, Linnet admitted wryly, or even half a chance, and he would always take full advantage. Since time out of mind he had sued Linnet’s attention, and would not likely stop now.

Run away with me, Lin, he whispered seductively. You know you want to, in your heart. His gaze caressed her. Or in some other place, still more interesting, about that lovely body.

I do not want to. Linnet strove to sound stern.

It is only a few days until midsummer, he continued to persuade, when lads and lasses get up to all sorts of wondrous wantonness. He widened his eyes in mock innocence. I know I am up to it. Whenever I am near you, I am up—

Hastily, Linnet interrupted him. As if I would be fool enough to go anywhere with you.

He smiled persuasively. Come, we will hare off to the depths of Sherwood and visit your parents.

Oh, aye? Again, Linnet lifted a brow. Her mother and father, Wren and Sparrow, along with Martin Scarlet, were the guardians who held safe the magic of Sherwood. Her parents lived the life of mystics and virtual hermits in the depths of the forest. An ancient place, the heart of Sherwood felt like another world to Linnet, even though she and Lark had been born and had spent their early childhood there. Sherwood’s magic remained potent enough to touch them all. Aye, Falcon whispered now, his lips but a breath from hers. And on the way we shall catch the Green Man’s ear and so pledge ourselves, and become man and wife.

I have no wish to wed with you, Linnet said bluntly, striving to break the web of desire he wove so skillfully. Not that she had never thought about it. No woman could watch Falcon Scarlet draw a bow, move through the forest, or even ply a hoe without imagining what it would be like to be his. The lasses of Oakham followed him the way bees followed the scent of honeysuckle. Linnet had no idea how many of them had already tasted his sweetness.

’Twould be like marrying my own blood kin, she protested. You might as well wed Lark.

Uff! That backed him off a step and pricked his ardor. How can the two of you be so different, and you twins? His eyes touched her again, and lingered. You all woman and she more lad than lass.

Aye, so. Linnet bent and began gathering broken crockery. My father always says Sherwood blessed him twice in one blow, and in very different ways.

You do not even look alike, save for the color of your hair.

True, also. Lark and Linnet had both inherited their mother’s wild locks of deep brown. Lark had Wren’s fierce eyes, as well, the golden gaze of a wolf or hawk. But Linnet had her father’s dark eyes, thickly fringed with black lashes. Lark had been a tomboy from the time she could walk. She reached instinctively for the bow and wanted none of the knowledge Linnet sought, of herbs and healing.

Falcon seized both Linnet’s hands, trapping a shard of broken pottery between them. Why fight it, Lin? You know we are meant to be together, you and I. It is destined, ordained by the very magic of Sherwood. Why make me wait, unless you wish to drive me mad?

Is it ordained, though? Linnet questioned, attempting to take a step back.

We are members of the next triad, meant to guard Sherwood’s magic, he said, suddenly grave, you, Lark, and I. That is fact. And two of us will bond as only man and woman can, as did your father and mother. That you cannot deny.

Linnet’s gaze challenged him. What makes you think ’twill be you and I? Why not you and Lark?

Do not give me such nonsense. His fingers tightened on hers. You know I love you, Linnet. I have since we were children and your parents brought the two of you out of the forest. Must I beg?

Linnet had to admit the idea of Falcon Scarlet on his knees at her feet held some appeal. But never in her life had she been unkind.

What you feel, my fine lad, is lust and not love.

How can you say so? You do not know what is in my heart.

Do I not? That is just it, Fal: I know you far too well. You truly are like a brother to me.

If I am your brother, then my eyes should be put out for the incestuous thoughts I have of you. ’Twas difficult enough, Lin, when you were a girl and I watched you grow ever more beautiful. Now that you are a woman— Something kindled bright in his eyes. You must wed eventually, and you would not accept anyone else. He added a bit wildly, There is no one else.

Linnet laughed and managed to pull her hands from his at last. There are fine men in plenty, here in Oakham and all about Sherwood as well.

There are. Falcon leaned close once more and whispered in her ear. But none for you, Linnet Little. None, I say to you, but me.

Chapter Two

So you decided to come home at last. Where have you been? Linnet cast the words at her sister as Lark entered the cottage, bringing with her an air of sullen rebellion.

Linnet could sense Lark’s mood most times. She did not know if that was because they were twins or because, as Falcon had said earlier, they were both members of the triad destined to one day guard the magic of Sherwood. Linnet knew her parents could sense one another’s presence, catch one another’s thoughts and, often, speak to each other mind to mind. She knew, also, they shared deep bonds with Martin Scarlet, the third member of the triad that even now held Sherwood’s magic strong.

In any case, Lark’s present mood assaulted Linnet, pricked at her senses, and virtually flooded the room.

Linnet had spent the entire afternoon in Lark’s absence—both with Fal’s assistance and without it—tidying away the mess made earlier and calculating her losses. Without question, Linnet ran the tiny dwelling the sisters shared in the village of Oakham. Never in her life had Lark tended a hearth; rarely did she prepare a meal. Thinking on it now, Linnet had to admit there was some validity in Falcon’s estimation of her sister.

Lark would have made a fine lad. A bundle of pure fierceness in a small frame, she rarely backed down from anything and fought, always, with her whole heart. She could shoot an arrow better than most young men in the village, or beyond, and was no poor hand with a sword or sling. Long had she made herself one among those who went raiding and preying upon the travelers of Nottinghamshire. She was even a favorite of Martin Scarlet, who, Linnet would have said, favored virtually no one.

Now Linnet appraised Lark with a single glance: hair escaped from its braid and tangled, bare feet filthy, burrs caught in her clothing.

You have been in the forest.

Lark flung herself down beside the hearth, somehow managing to display both arrogance and grace in one movement. I had to be sure he was gone before I returned. Her voice, husky and smoky, reminded Linnet of their father, Sparrow Little. Sudden longing to see her parents tugged at her, as it so often did.

Wren and Sparrow had bidden their daughters choose, when they became old enough: life in the peaceful depths of Sherwood or in the quickened pace of the village at Oakham. Both had chosen the village. But for many years they had spent time, summers mostly, absorbing the ancient magic that dwelt, like their parents, deep among the trees. Linnet never doubted the love that dwelt there also, but she supposed all in all it had been a strange upbringing.

Not surprising, perhaps, that it had produced an unusual pair of women.

With that thought in mind, Linnet eyed her sister again. Perhaps it is time you visited Mother and Father. It might do you good.

Lark gave Linnet a stare so sharp it might strip bark from a tree. You say I should go? Why me, and not you also?

I have things to do here.

Aye, and midsummer is upon us. Lark’s golden gaze, now directed like a weapon, increased in heat. And so you will not leave him.

Him?

Falcon Scarlet. Lark spoke the name like an epithet.

I do not know why you let him get under your skin so, Linnet said, exasperated. Nor, quite, why you torment him so often.

Lark’s lips twisted in a grimace. Do you not? She added with false sweetness, And I thought you such an intelligent woman.

Surprise seized Linnet an instant before understanding. She abandoned her chores and sat down at her sister’s side. Lark, never say that you— She found she could not quite speak the words.

Lark glared still harder. That stare said many things but screamed the truth only when it fell abruptly.

Oh. Bits and pieces of wondering and conviction fell into place in Linnet’s mind. You—and Falcon? To be sure, she had teased Fal with that very prospect but had never guessed what lay in her sister’s heart. And that made a bold testament to Lark’s skill at deception.

No, Lark said bitterly, not me and Falcon—just me. With miserable defiance, she added, He does not see me, Lin, save as an annoyance. He has never really seen me.

A hard and undeniable truth. Dismay washed over Linnet in a rush, for if Lark had gifted Falcon Scarlet her heart she faced an uphill battle, indeed.

Why did you never tell me, Lark? All this time—how long?

Lark shrugged irritably. "Forever. Does it matter? By any road, I should think you would have guessed. I would think anyone would guess, even a fool. Even him."

Falcon Scarlet is no fool. Whatever else he might be, Fal possessed a quick mind, which, in Linnet’s estimation, numbered high among his other attributes.

She reached out and touched her sister’s arm. She could feel Lark’s tension, and the force of her spirit battling, within. Lark, is this indeed why you are forever pestering and tormenting him? Why you plague him so mercilessly?

Why ask senseless questions if you already know the answers? His annoyance is better than no attention from him. And at least when we wrestle I can touch him. An incredible expression—one Linnet had never seen before—invaded Lark’s eyes. In it combined desire and longing so intense it made Linnet catch her breath.

Oh, Lark, she whispered.

Lark shot her a burning, rebellious look. There is no hope for me, and I know it. ’Tis but a matter of time before he speaks for you. She broke off and then asked bitterly, Or has he already? Do not try to deny it, Lin. You are a terrible bad liar. I can see everything in your eyes.

He thinks he wants me. I am not so sure.

Lark raked her with another glare. How could he fail to want you? You are everything a woman should be, soft and graceful, with healing in your hands. Not like me—a tiny, misbegotten throwback to our ancient ancestors who lived underground.

You have your own beauty. Someday a man will come along with the wit to see it.

I do not want ‘a man.’ I want Fal Scarlet.

Well, then, love, perhaps we could work on your appearance just a tad, do something with your hair, and put you in a dress.

Me, in a dress? Lark had just forced an incredulous laugh when they both became aware of an uproar outside the house, the sound of many voices raised. A hand pushed the cottage door open and a head appeared—that of Falcon Scarlet himself.

Come swiftly, Lin. One of our raiding parties has just returned. They have a prisoner—and a plum picking at that. He is injured, in need of tending, so my pa says.

Both young women leaped to their feet. Linnet’s heart began to pound for reasons she could not understand.

A prisoner? she echoed.

Fal’s teeth flashed in a wicked smile. A Norman, and high born, to judge by his fine clothing. ‘Norman git,’ my pa says, and no doubt worth a high ransom.

He withdrew, and the sisters exchanged speaking glances. Lark swore and ran out ahead of Linnet, who paused to gather supplies, her hands suddenly unsteady.

This could only mean trouble of the worst kind. May the Green Man be with me, she muttered as she hurried out the door.

Chapter Three

Silence, you stinking pile of Norman offal! You will speak when you are asked a question and not before, or are you too stupid to understand?

The words came accompanied by a blow, and not the first Gareth de Vavasour had received from the man who stood above him. It knocked him sideways into the dust, and he gritted his teeth against the ensuing pain. Determinedly he fought to remain silent; he suspected his left arm must be broken—better that than his right, his sword arm. But his injuries had not kept these feral bastards from binding his wrists behind him, and the agony of any movement made him want to retch. He battled that down also. He would not give these Saxon villains the satisfaction of witnessing his pain.

His uncle, Robert de Vavasour—current Sheriff of Nottingham—was right about these serfs he said infested his domain. He had told Gareth they lived, bred, and behaved like vermin, without scruples or morals. From all Gareth had seen this afternoon, he could but agree.

And this ruffian who now stood over him seemed the worst of the lot. Tall, with a wild mop of gray-blond hair and an even wilder beard, he was head of the band that had seized Gareth on the road to Nottingham. He bore a face full of scars and the fiercest pair of eyes Gareth had ever seen. They fairly spewed hate.

Gareth wondered how many of his party now lay dead—killed by the band of outlaws who had taken him. In the company of a strong troop of soldiers, Gareth had been escorting a shipment of tax money and valuables, bound south from York, while journeying to join his uncle’s home guard at Nottingham. He had seen at least two men fall. Who would have thought mere peasants brandishing